Chapter 8 #2
A sharp pang of guilt caught him off-guard. What would she say if she knew the truth, not only about Justin St. Briac’s manipulations, but also Hart’s role in the deception?
“Is it possible that you care nothing for social conventions?”
“I made a choice to go my own way, after suffering through two interminable Seasons. During that time, I became convinced that I am not designed to be a wife.” She lifted her delicate, stubborn chin.
“I made up my mind to do what I feel is right for me, not what society dictates. And I believe, in spite of everything, my parents understand. They did just the same thing when they were young.”
“I see.” He lifted both brows, enjoying every word she spoke.
“However in the meantime, Papa has gotten it into his head that I should not be alone, and he should act as my matchmaker. I know he does this out of concern, but he forgets that I am every bit as shrewd as he is.”
Hart wanted to laugh. Delightful. “You have a plan of your own?”
“I do! When Papa began talking today about suitors for me, I told him I had begun a list of my own. A Bridegroom List!” An artless smile lit her face. “Isn’t it inspired?”
“Brilliant,” he agreed. “Who are the lucky candidates?”
“Well, it will all be a sham,” Emeline told him cheerfully.
“To throw Papa off the scent, you see. But I shall have to put a few names down in case I am forced to show it to him.” Pausing, she stepped closer and laid a confiding hand on his arm.
“I was hoping you might know some eligible young men of the town I could use as decoys.”
Cynically, Hart thought that none of the libertines he fraternized with would pass muster with her father. And although Hart had claimed he didn’t want to be entangled any further with Emeline, when the moment came to detach, it seemed he couldn’t do it.
“I will think about it.” He felt his mouth twist in a smile.
Good God, did she regard him as some sort of uncle or older brother?
Even as he had this thought, he felt the delicate pressure of her hand on his forearm and breathed in her fresh, lavender scent.
The temptation to take her in his arms was almost unbearable.
“Oh my, I have just had an idea!” Emeline said, glowing.
“There will be a small party at my grandparents’ home in Grosvenor Square this Saturday.
I shall invite you, and perhaps you might bring along a possible candidate for the Bridegroom List!
Someone you socialize with at White’s or Tattersalls, or some such place. ”
“What?” He blinked. “No, I don’t think so.
That is, we should not imply to your father that I have any involvement in your list.” Hart cleared his throat, mentally casting about for a plausible excuse.
“That is, I already have a sort of business relationship with St. Briac. And since I am employing you and your cousin, I don’t think he would appreciate me, uh, meddling in your private life. ”
She looked unconvinced. “All right.”
“However, between us, I will think about a name you might privately add to your list.”
“That’s a good plan.” Emeline nodded. “And now, I really must go. Louise is waiting for me and if I don’t appear soon, she will begin to worry.”
When her hand slipped from his arm, he nearly reached out to bring it back. “I will watch you go down the corridor, but I cannot accompany you. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see us and think you were here, alone, in my rooms.”
Emeline nodded again and went ahead of him into the entry alcove.
Then, as Hart reached to open the door, she turned, rose up on her toes, and impulsively embraced him.
“Oh, Hart, I can never thank you properly for what you are doing for Monte.” She kissed his cheek, her sweet lips brushing his rough jaw. “And for me.”
Closing his eyes, he turned his face a mere inch, until his mouth grazed hers and he heard the soft intake of her breath.
Desire overtook him as if he were a green youth, flooding his hard body with urgent need.
For one burning instant, he tasted her mouth and knew it had to stop, or he would be doomed in more ways than one.
He straightened and set her from him. “I am glad to be of assistance.” His voice was hoarse.
Emeline gazed up, eyes searching. He saw something in them… Could it be desire? Shock, more likely. Did it mean anything that she had murmured “Hart” when she embraced him? She was merely thanking you, idiot! And you had to twist it into something carnal.
Emeline was speaking, he realized.
“Goodbye, then.” Color rose in her cheeks as she opened the door. “I do thank you.”
Hart wanted to take her hand again, to let her see that he knew he had erred. Instead he merely nodded and watched as she disappeared down the corridor.
Back inside his rooms, Hart felt oddly disoriented.
At the sight of his own reflection in a gilded mirror, he shook his head slightly.
Clad in evening dress, tailored to emphasize the lean, powerful lines of his physique, he was the picture of a libertine…
which of course was exactly the role he had meant to play that night.
Until Emeline appeared with her ridiculous vagrant dog.
Other women, like Valencia, spared no expense to achieve beauty, yet Emeline possessed a radiance that was priceless. Furthermore, she seemed quite unconcerned with the latest modes of fashion. His attraction to her felt different as well…
Hart had just stripped off his tailcoat when a quiet voice spoke from a distance.
“Lord Jasper?”
It was William, standing in the doorway that connected their rooms, watching him in a way that grated on his nerves.
“What do you want?” he snapped.
“Well…if you are no longer going out, perhaps I might assist you in your…undressing.”
“I am perfectly capable of taking off my own clothes.” He tugged a bit too hard at his neckcloth. He knew damned well that William was wondering why he had decided against his planned night of debauchery. “After that drama with Miss St. Briac and the dog, I have lost my desire for…gaming.”
“Perfectly understandable, my lord.” William nodded.
Why are you explaining to him? Hart silently demanded of himself. “Where the devil have you put the brandy?”
William entered the parlor then, carefully expressionless.
No sooner had he produced the decanter of brandy and poured a liberal amount into a glass than a furry mongrel peered around the doorframe.
The instant the dog clapped eyes on Hart, he engaged in frenzy of barking and hobbled, limping on three legs, across the fine carpet.
“Quiet!” commanded Hart.
To his surprise, the dog not only fell silent, but also sat down and waited, blinking his black eyes.
William offered a tentative comment. “He’s missed you, my lord.”
“Don’t say that. Besides, he went away quite willingly with you and Peachey. I have no doubt that the little beast will grow very attached to both of you.”
This prediction caused Monte to close the distance between himself and Hart. He sat down again, this time lifting his injured paw and gazing up at his would-be master.
“It would help if we could discover the true nature of Monte’s injury,” said William, “but Miss St. Briac said that the little fellow won’t allow anyone to touch his leg.” As William spoke, Mrs. Peachey came through the doorway and stopped next to her brother, watching.
“Curse it,” muttered Hart. The mongrel might well be hoaxing them, faking this supposed injury, but he’d seem a villain if he said this aloud. Instead he crouched down and met the dog’s black eyes. “I am going to see what’s wrong with your leg. Do not dare to bite me, understood?”
“His name is Monte,” Mrs. Peachey called helpfully.
Hart sent her a tight smile. “Thank you.”
As he reached for the dog’s left front leg, he heard Peachey draw a worried breath. For an instant, Monte started to pull away but seemed to think better of it. Slowly and carefully, Hart felt along the stubby canine limb, checking for evidence of a fracture.
“There is swelling at the shoulder joint,” he pronounced, “but as far as I can tell, nothing is broken. A little rest and our vagrant guest should be perfectly well. William, take him with you. Perhaps you should visit one of the large potted palms on the terrace before you retire for the night?”
William obeyed, lifting Monte into his arms and starting off. Hart tried not to notice the way the dog craned his neck to look back at him until the moment they disappeared around the doorway.
Hart was swept by a renewed urge to seek distraction after all, at the faro tables or in Valencia’s bed. He was looking around for his discarded coat and neckcloth when Mrs. Peachey silently appeared at his side.
“It’s a fine thing you are doing, Lord Jasper,” she murmured.
“What?” He shrugged, pretending not to understand, even though he knew damned well she could see through all of that. “Oh—are you referring to that stray?”
Mrs. Peachey nodded. “Yes. Monte. I have to tell you, just between us, that I am reminded of the little dog you loved as a child. He must have been abandoned, and you found him on the road. You chose his name yourself.” Her voice was soft, like a dream. “Do you remember?”
Hart wished he could make her stop. “Vaguely.” An image of the scrawny, aged dog, with his white muzzle and pleading eyes, sprang up, unbidden, in his memory. “I called him Felix. God only knows how I settled on that name.”
Peachey lifted a wisp of linen and dabbed at her eyes. “Yes, that’s right. Dear little Felix.”
He willed her to relent, to no avail.
“I could never forget that day,” she went on. “After the duke announced that Lord Austell was to be his heir, you didn’t speak for a full year. Not a word! So when you opened your mouth and uttered Felix, Her Grace…your dear mama, was over the moon.”
“Of course.” His gut clenched painfully. “Very touching, yet I don’t think we should attempt to draw any parallels between poor old Felix and this brazen interloper.”
“No? If I may say so, Lord Jasper, I suspect you understand it more than you wish to admit.” Mrs. Peachey patted his white shirt sleeve. “That’s enough for one night.”
Hart sent her a narrowed gaze. “Suddenly I am tired.”
“Yes, my lord. You do have a great deal to consider.” She started toward the door to the rooms she shared with her brother. Midway, she turned back to add casually, “It was lovely to meet Miss St. Briac. So natural and unaffected. Charming, I thought.”
Peachey’s timing had always been impeccable, Hart thought ruefully as she took her leave. After the connecting door closed, he heard Monte woof several times, but then there was quiet.
Hart stood in the middle of the parlor, alone. At a loss. When he drew a deep breath, it seemed that an unseen force was squeezing his ribs.
He glanced around for the abandoned glass of brandy and drank it down.
Devil take it. There was nothing for it, it seemed, except to go to bed. Perhaps he could elude the chit in his dreams.